Mozell had way too much of an adrenaline and endorphin rush going to climb into bed as soon as she got home, and, as she'd said, she was feeling inspired. She remembered the thicket of chest hair she'd run into on Greg, grinned, and wrote a short PWP about Jim Ellison revealing his attraction to Blair Sandburg by zoning at the sight of his nipple ring, glinting amidst his fanfiction legendary pelt. *I swear, one of these days I'm gonna write an AU where Jim is the wooly booger, and Blair is smooth, with a Brutus haircut. Should be good for at least two days worth of controversy on some of the lists.*

On a roll, she did a quick check of her 'short poems' file, and found one that was appropriate, and did a chapter on one of her longer stories, with Giles angsting over the fact that he was so much older than his lover, and Xander Harris (said lover) shagging him senseless to prove to him that he wasn't an 'old man'.

She ran spell check on both, and gave then a second going over, then opened her net connection and got ready to post them to her lists. She knew they wouldn't be perfect, but her work was the only area of her life where she had enough patience to be nitpicking. She sent the stories off to all the pertinent list, and finally started to look at what was in her inbox.

She hadn't checked it since the night before, and it was about to overflow. She went through the routine task of weeding out all spam and series chapters that she wasn't following, then got into her most comfortable nightshirt, snagged a cold Diet Pepsi, and settled down to her pre-bed reading.

She was thrilled to see that Tinneantoo had begun another classic movie slash--she always loved those, and since she was meticulous, Mozell knew that she could look forward to many future days of enjoyment as the story spun out. There was another short bathroom humor/Sentinel story by royslady51 that had her happy that she'd swallowed the mouthful of Pepsi before she reached one particular passage.

Finally she read her own feedback, and blinked when she saw that there were three from the same address. Had someone's finger stuttered on the send key? She'd done that more than once herself. "What happened, ardentadmirer?" she muttered. "Tried to email before caffeine?"

The first email was for the first couple of chapters of Roman Enslavement. Opened the email, and blinked at it for a moment. *Damn. Girlfriend wrote an essay. That has to be over a page just for one section of one story.* She started reading. *Hm. Well, at least she likes it. And she's polite at correcting my classic Latin, too. Eh, well, it's not as if I really expected one hundred per cent accuracy off the online dictionaries and translators.*

Mozell write a friendly note in reply, commenting on the comments, and thanking the reader for the help with the translations, assuring her that she'd post a corrected version to her site as soon as she had time. She saved the email so she could do just that. Plus she liked to keep the longer, more detailed bits of feedback for days when she was feeling a little blue. Nothing like a cheerleading review to feed your self-esteem.

The second email reviewed a couple of sections of her first Proverbs Series story. She was complimented on her humor, and her ability to juggle so many characters in such a short space. Mozell arched an eyebrow. She never would have compared the series' style to that of Laugh In, but she supposed it was a logical stretch. She saved that bit of email, too.

The third one was for her X Files/Mission Impossible 2 crossover--another discreet rave--a long one. *Wow. Ardentadmirer must have a lot of time on her hands. That's good, though. We can always use a few more feedback fairies.* She kept reading, then frowned over a certain line. *'You're so knowledgeable about the intricacies of these covert operations. Confess--you're really part of one of these secret organizations, aren't you?' Where the hell is the :) after that? Come to think of it, I don't think ardentadmirer has used a single emoticon in any of the emails so far.* She gave a mental shrug. *Oh, well--some people talk in a monotone.*

She sent a reply to this one, also. Mozell made it a practice to respond to the feedbacks that were more than just 'this was nice, write more'. She felt that anyone who took the time to offer a thoughtful analysis of her work deserved a couple of minutes of her time for a personal response.

She saved the third email, and checked her inbox one final time. There was another email from ardentadmirer, a reply to her first response. *Damn. She must've been sitting at the 'puter when the email came in.* Mozell tapped her fingers on the desk for a moment, debating whether or not she should open the email. The temptation was strong. She'd gotten several good ego boosts already from this writer. Still... She looked at the size of the post, and decided to wait. That looked like a pretty long post, unless aredentadmirer had just kept Mozell's text instead of snipping it in the reply.

She shut off the machine. *This evening is soon enough.*

That evening the alarm clock went on strike, she got up almost a half-hour late, and didn't have time to check her email before she left. She wasn't worried. It wasn't like it was going anywhere.

Sarah poked her head into Catherine's office. "I think there's something wrong with Greg."

Catherine looked up from the paper she was studying, mildly concerned. Sarah's tone didn't indicate that anything was seriously wrong--more like irritating, or puzzling. "I'd have thought he'd have slept off whatever hangover he had from last night."

"I don't know about that. He's singing."

Catherine crooked an eyebrow, "So?"

"It's what he's singing."

"Arias? Bluegrass? Gregorian chant?"

"You have to hear this for yourself. I swear you'll never believe it otherwise."

Catherine followed Sarah down the hall to Greg's lab. Sure enough, she could hear him singing, in a pleasant voice somewhere between a tenor and a baritone, and his choice of music did bring her to a surprised halt. She looked at Sarah in disbelief. "The Four Seasons?"

"Oh what a niiiiight!" Greg warbled. He was mixing something in a petri dish, and his hips twitched slightly, the rhythm apparently moving through his body. "Laaaate September back in..." He trailed off singing, then muttered, "Wait a minute--this isn't December. Um..." He thought for a second, then sang, "Mid-September in two-thousand threeeee. What a very special time for meeeee. What a lady, what a niiiiight!"

He hadn't noticed them, and Sarah tugged Catherine back till they couldn't be seen through the door. "You see what I mean?" she hissed. "Greg singing seventies cheese? He must be sick!"

Catherine was smiling. "Maybe he's love-sick." She tilted her head toward the closed office across the hall.

"That woman is a bad influence on him."

Catherine nodded solemnly. "Introducing him to cheesy seventies music. She's obviously corrupting him."

"This isn't funny!" Sarah snapped. "She... she got him drunk." "Sarah, Greg is over twenty-one, and I didn't see her sticking a funnel down his throat. He got tipsy--it happens."

"Yeah, but who knows what other things she might lead him into? She could take advantage of him."

Catherine thought about the quick scramble in the back of Greg's car, his flushed, blissful face, and Mozell's more-rumpled-than-usual hair and catlike smile, then she had a coughing fit in an attempt to not laugh out loud. When she finally got control of herself again, she said, "Same argument--he's of age. Look, Sarah, while I'll admit that there are some areas where Greg strikes me as a tad immature, relationships with women is not one of them." She peeked around the door again. Greg was bouncing on his heels, humming as he watched the progress of a test on a monitor. "And he seems really happy. I think it's sweet."

Sarah stared at her. "She's a witch, and she's put you under a spell, too." Mozell came out of the clean room just down the hall. She saw them and did a pirouette. She was wearing a broomstick-crinkled skirt that was rainbow striped, and a ruby red scoop necked T-shirt. A long rainbow striped scarf was tied around her neck, floating behind her at least three feet. "A gypsy witch."

Mozell apparently had better hearing than they gave her credit for. She smiled as she came toward them. "Nah, when I want to be a gypsy witch I wear big hoop earrings and a couple of pounds of necklaces and bangle bracelets," she drew a finger up her forearm to her elbow, "up to here, and the scarf would be around my forehead instead of my neck." She wiggled her fingers. "And rings. It's all in the accessories, Sidestep."

"Will you stop that!"

"Not as long as it keeps irritating you so badly, no. Loosen up."

Greg must have been attuned to the sound of her voice, because he popped out of the lab, grinning at her. "Hello, there."

Mozell returned the grin. "Hi, yourself." Catherine reflected that an awful lot of meaning could be packed into three syllables.

Greg held up a finger, as if about to make a point. "I have something for you."

"Fine, Greg," said Sarah pointedly. "And how are you?"

Greg blinked, as if he'd been in an empty room, and suddenly heard someone speak. "Oh, hi, Sarah. Uh, Catherine. Lookin' good, ladies. Mozell..." he crooked his finger. She followed him into the lab. Catherine tried to urge Sarah back down the hall, but the younger girl stubbornly ignored her, peering into the lab after them. Greg offered Mozell a gift bag, shiny red with snowy tissue paper peeking out the top.

Mozell clasped her hands under her chin in the classic, 'for little old ME?' gesture, and fluttered her eyelashes at him. She took the bag and reached in. She pulled out a two-pound box of chocolates, and gaped. "Strike me pink! The big size!" Her expression fell. "But Greg, hon, I'm diabetic, remember?"

He silently took the box from her, and lifted it high, then jerked his chin toward it. She looked up at the bottom of the box, then squealed. "Sugar free! You dollbaby!" She threw her arms around Greg so enthusiastically that he staggered back a half step, laughing. She hugged with one arm and used the free one to grab the box as she laid a fervent kiss on him, bending him back slightly. She let go, then purred, "If you're a good boy, I'll share later." She grabbed up the bag and... Well, pranced was the most appropriate word, toward the door.

Out in the hall, clutching the box close to her chest, she said, her voice awed, "He not only heard, he listened!" Then she looked mischievious. "Can't have any--all mine." She arched an eyebrow, smiling. "Both of them."

"You and Greg seem to have gotten very close, very fast," said Sarah suspiciously.

Mozell smiled sweetly, and cooed, "Jealous?"

Sarah stiffened. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm only ridiculous when I intend to be, Sidecar. Now, if you'll excuse me--no time to be chatting. Hidden files to find, crooks to catch, busy, busy, busy." She bustled into her office.

Sarah had been opening her mouth to say something, but Mozell was gone before she could get out a response. "Damn! She did it again."

"What?"

"You didn't notice? Sidecar. She just called me a motorcycle accessory."

"Isn't there a drink called a Sidecar? I think it's made with brandy, triple Sec or Cointure, lemons, and sugar." Sarah stared at her as if she suspected that Catherine had been infected with the insanity that Mozell seemed to be spreading. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Sarah. I have to agree with Mozell on this--you need to loosen up. If I'd gotten upset every time someone made a word play on 'Willows' I'd be a nervous wreck by now. Now excuse me, but I need to get back to the statement I was studying before you pulled me out to listen to Greg's concert." She left.

Sarah stood in the middle of the hall for another few moments, fuming. She considered going in and confronting Greg about this unhealthy attachment he seemed to be developing, but the lab tech was immersed in a test at the moment. Greg was a chatty soul, willing to shoot the breeze with practically anyone about anything--but not when he was in the middle of lab work. He took that seriously, knowing that cases could fall from the slightest hint of negligence.

She thought about talking to Grissom about the situation, but decided against it. Grissom generally let his subordinates run their own lives, and Sarah figured that she'd have to be able to present some pretty compelling evidence of how... how wrong this whole Mozell/Greg thing was before she went to him with it.

The door to Mozell's office opened. "You still here, Sidesaddle? Well, I'm feeling magnanimous. How would you like a piece of candy? You can have the truffle, if you like."

"No, thank you," said Sarah stiffly.

"Oh, come on! It's Irish Cream flavored."

"How would you know? Did you lick it?"

Mozell gave her a shark smile. "I outgrew that in grade school. I know because they thoughtfully provide a little diagram on the lid of the box."

"No thanks again." She smoothed a hand over her hips, and said cooly, "Some of us watch our figures."

Mozell nodded agreeably, then twiddled her fingers, looking past Sarah. Sarah looked around to see Greg just responding to Mozell with a wave, smiling. "While some of us," said Mozell softly, "are content to let others watch our figure." Sarah stalked off. Mozell chuckled as she shut the door. *Score. God, she's so easy it's almost shameful. Now, let's see... Who can I push that damn truffle off on?*

She was tired, but happy when she got home the next morning. She opened her email, and squinted at the screen. "What the hell?" The first six emails were from ardentadmirer. *I love a loyal feedbacker, but damn, girl. Slow down before you burn out.*

She opened the first email...